


A Good God Is Hard to Find

by nonisland



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Backstory, Demons, Fallen Angels, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 12:25:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonisland/pseuds/nonisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(three ways of looking at a demon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. nephil!Meg

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crowleyshouseplant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowleyshouseplant/gifts).



> Originally gifted anonymously on Tumblr. Title from Jeffery McDaniel’s “Disasterology”.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Should you find something, whilst reading one of my stories, that offends you/is incorrect/could offend others/is in any way problematic, please please _please_ do not hesitate to tell me. I will never spew hate at you, I will never attack you, and I will _always_ thank you for taking the time to let me know.

It is the age of high-vaulting churches and holy wars, and she walks nameless through streets gritty with ash and blood. It is the age of plague and scholarship, and on winter nights she draws her cloak tighter around herself and thinks of the great shimmering heat of the land where she was born and the cold of hell that no one deserves.

Centuries later she walks through such streets again. Notre Dame de Paris was wrecked, defaced and desecrated, and she steps curiously onto what had been holy ground. She does not burn. The ground pulses beneath her feet and she walks smoothly across it, and she does not burn--damned as she is, ungodly as she was even before her father remade her, she does not burn.

She comes back. She comes back because she wants to stand beneath stone that reaches higher than ever stone should, and see what the jewel-colored glass in the windows looks like. She comes back, more than any of that, because it should be forbidden to her: because she follows no man's laws, because she can leave footprints in smoke and sulfur that these pious incense-shaking humans will never be able to make never have been.

She steps onto ground resanctified and it burns like staring into the sun, it burns like the fires of Heaven.

And she is not unmade.

She trembles within the meat she wears but it is _hers_ , still, herself and not a home she's flung from, and she reaches out to the jeweled light piercing through the shadows and thinks of light and warmth reaching down even into Hell itself.

_I'll take us all to heaven_ , she thinks, and closes her hand around the sunlight and walks away.


	2. fallen angel!Meg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've used gender-neutral pronouns for Meg here.

Xe falls, sword still tight-gripped in xyr hand. There are flames, and xe burns to nothingness and smoke, and the metal heats against xyr darkening grace. Xe had been named, but when xe shudders to a halt in the cold of Hell and trembles beneath the dim glow of Lucifer's wings xyr name is gone, like the brightness of xyr blade, like the voice xe had raised in praise of the god xe now rejects (who has rejected xem).

Xe considers names, of the devout and the vicious, but none seem right to xem.

"Give it time," Lilith whispers, a ghost of breath and warmth against xyr edges, but xe doesn't want time. Xe wants to be named like xyr Lord still is, like the newly-damned are--or else to take all names away.

Ruby is a witch and she is a human and she has no faith, not in the god in Heaven or the Lord of Hell, but she has a name.

Ruby has a name and xe envies her for it, fiercely and terribly, even as she presses against xem and whispers the names that belonged to people she had known, but none are right, none have the feel and the weight of being that Lilith's and Ruby's do, or the (divine) rightness of Lucifer's, and xe says no, no, no to every one, and Ruby keeps trying.

"Meg," xe says, studying xyr body's face in the mirror. Soft hair, soft skin, soft clothes--those are all wrong. Margaret Elizabeth Masters: too long, too human--also wrong. But Meg. Xe likes Meg, short and hard and uncompromising.

Meg cuts Meg Masters's hair short, as suits a warrior; xe dresses them in tight pants and shirt and a jacket, not armor but protection nonetheless; and they go out in search of Meg's Lord's chosen.

Afterwards, battered and shaken, Meg clings to Ruby in the shadows at the edges of Hell and admits, "I failed."

"We'll think of something else," Ruby promises.

She calls Meg by name whenever she can, their names the last flickers of a better world they have, and a year passes and the gate breaks open and she says, "I'm going out."

Meg takes xyr blade from the secret place xe had hidden it, where it has remained all these ages untouched. It had shone in xyr hands once, pale and proudly-lit; now it drinks in light instead, ragged with shadows and torn by flame. "Take this with you," xe says, because xe cannot go with Ruby; xe is still weakened by the exorcism. But Ruby should not go alone.

Demons don't weep, and Ruby doesn't, but she is a bright shimmer against Meg, warm almost like sunlight. And then she leaves.

More time passes, and Ruby is gone--Meg feels it, Meg knows it as the blade that had once been part of xem destroys xyr (xe doesn't know the words)...destroys _Ruby_ , and xe screams in fury and tears through the wall between Hell and Earth, boiling free like Lucifer but with a much smaller justice in mind.

The Winchesters kept the knife like a trophy, a thing taken to mark their triumph over the vanquished. It is not Sam Winchester's token of his lover (maybe it is but xe will not, cannot accept that anyone who killed Ruby could have loved her). It is ugly when they hold it, as it was beautiful in Ruby's hands.

Meg wants it _back_.

Xe takes it.


	3. human!Meg

Who she was is something lost.

She doesn't know or _need_ to know, but sometimes she still wants to, when she remembers the taste of wine or the hilt of a knife in her hand or the weight of her hair down her back. Bodies. Names. Human things, relics of who she'd been before damnation and rebirth.

( _You find a cause_ , she says.)

She wonders.

She glances through history books, sometimes, looking for someone bright and terrible. She wonders what she had thought important enough to balance Hell, and whether she'd traded her soul directly or fallen into it the usual way.

( _And you serve it._ )

In the end it doesn't matter who she was, just who she is:

She is black smoke like the funeral pyre of a tyrant, like a prison destroyed and aflame; hers is the will to wield Ruby's blade still cold with memories of Hell and Castiel's sword hot with Heaven's destructive glory; she is defiance itself as she stands in light pouring over and around her like her own mocking laughter, because who says demons have to be creatures of the darkness?

Truth to power, that's what she is now, a fierceness and a triumph as she walks with humans and angels (with but not with). She is life undying, loyalty unfading, and some day soon she'll kick the gates of Heaven down and lead every starved and tortured Hell-sibling of hers in.

In the name of her Father, it will be so.


End file.
